


Leap of Faith

by persephone622



Series: Actions Speak Louder [3]
Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Masturbation, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:04:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephone622/pseuds/persephone622
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom wants Remy. Badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leap of Faith

**Author's Note:**

> There is a moment, referenced in A Very Long Time, where Tom and Remy visit the property's lake. This is the account of that visit . . . and what happens after.
> 
> Takes place before A Very Long Time but after Changes.
> 
> Male masturbation (my first time writing it, so be gentle), swearing, fluff, and a just a hint of angst (I think).

Tom shuddered, but it wasn’t the cold lake water that was the cause. Remy moved towards him slowly, his eyes glued to her wet and dripping form as she forced her way towards the shore. Her body was glorious. He’d never seen it in less than shorts and a tank top, having long admired her toned, tanned legs and obviously labor-strengthened arms. But now . . . oh, god _now_.

Her black two piece left just enough to his imagination, the smooth fabric plastered to her chest and hips. The muscles of her stomach contracted as she moved, giving his thoughts free reign to wonder what it would be like seeing those same muscles tensing while above her, thrusting deep into her with her perfect legs wrapped around his waist. And he yearned to taste what the lake water added to her skin as he suckled those ample breasts . . . _oh god_.

He shifted and cleared his throat, fighting desperately to cover the obvious and painful erection that now pushed against his swim trunks. Remy plopped down onto her towel beside him and grabbed the extra one she had brought along, giving her long hair a squeeze to rid it of excess water. “Come on, Tom,” she urged, smiling. “I promise the fish don’t bite. Too hard.”

“What?” he exclaimed, blinking at her. She laughed, and he couldn’t help but smile, the sound utterly infectious.

“I’m only teasing,” Remy replied. “Dad relocated all the fish when they first bought the property.” She shuddered. “It grosses me out, just _thinking_ about swimming with those slimy things.”

Tom grinned, latching onto the fish topic and sending a prayer of thanks to the woman beside him for giving him a shift in focus. “And yet you dream about swimming in the ocean,” he teased. “The ocean that has crabs and sea urchins and snails, not to mention sharks.”

“It’s different,” she insisted. “More space. With a lake, they’re all just right . . . _there_.” She shuddered again. “Ew.” Her blue-gray eyes met his, a distinct challenge in their depths. “Now, are you going to get in the water or will I have to force you?”

He snorted. “I’d like to see you try,” he countered. “But I’m fine, Remy, really. I just needed to relax and this is doing wonders.”

“Please,” she pushed, her fingers wrapping around the arm closest to her and squeezing enticingly. “At least do the jump. Just once. Please?”

His gaze wandered to the jump in question, a wide rock ledge on the opposite side of the lake that hung about fifteen feet above the water. He’d watched Remy jump from it multiple times in the few hours they’d spent at the lake that day, feeling no small amount of terror for her every time. A nervous flutter settled in his stomach at the thought of jumping from the ledge himself.

Tom returned his focus back to the woman beside him, ready to refuse, but Remy’s pleading look was far too strong to resist. “All right, all right,” he conceded, grinning at her girlish squeal of pleasure. “Just once . . . Remy!”

Her fingers wrapped around his and she all but yanked him from his seated position, his long legs getting tangled as he fought to stay upright as she pulled him up the path to the jump. “Okay, so best technique,” she coached, her voice muffled over her shoulder. “Running start, maybe three steps, but only after a count of three. Jump after the third step and point your toes as you fall. Flailing limbs only hurt when they hit the water.”

“You’ve been doing this a long time, haven’t you?” Tom quipped as they climbed the short set of stairs to the ledge.

Remy shot him a brilliant grin as she moved them into position. “About twenty years now,” she agreed. “But believe me, it took a _long_ time until I perfected my technique. A long _painful_ time.”

He laughed. “I can only imagine,” he murmured wryly.

“All right, Mr. Big Time Movie Star,” she teased, releasing his hand and stepping back slightly. “You ready?”

“Uh . . .” Tom cleared his throat and shuffled towards the edge, his eyes widening as he stared down at the water below. “Well . . .”

“Tom, just one time,” Remy urged. “For me?”

He closed his eyes and silently cursed her, calling her every name he could in his mind. It was like she knew; like she knew the power those two little words had over him. Tom took a breath and squared his shoulders, turning back with a determined smile across his face. “One condition,” he amended, holding out his hand. “Do it with me?”

Remy blinked, her eyes jumping between his face and his offered hand before she broke out into an enchanting grin. “Of course!” she agreed, her hand slipping firmly into his. “But we’ll have to use my three steps. Long-legged freak.”

“American hussy,” he tossed back, reveling in the giggle their banter always pulled from her lips. He squeezed her hand. “Ready?”

“Are you?” she countered. Tom nodded, tightening his grip on her hand just slightly. A small smile flickered across her face and she squeezed reassuringly before facing forward. “One . . . two . . . three!”

Tom matched her steps easily and they leapt in tandem, gulping in air before it was stolen away and pointing toes, hands clasped, until they hit the water. It was a mess of bubbles and limbs and suffocating water for a long moment before he broke the surface with a mighty gasp. “That was . . . amazing!” he exclaimed before he realized he was alone. “Remy?” He spun, but she wasn’t on the shore and he couldn’t see her anywhere. His heart began to pound, pulse frantic as adrenaline and fear coursed through him. “Remy!”

“Boo!” Water splashed into his eyes as the woman shouted, her laughter ringing out around them. Remy’s blue-gray eyes were lit with amusement as she pushed the tangle of wet hair off her face, watching as he sputtered.

Relief replaced the fear only to be quickly followed by anger. Her laughter died as she watched him and he knew his emotions were written all over his face. “Tom?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. With a strong kick, he swam past her and towards the shore, ignoring her shouts as he stumbled onto the shore and hastily gathered his things before stomping down the trail back to the farmhouse.

“Tom, wait!” Remy called, water splashing as she hurried frantically after him. “Tom!” Slapping footsteps soon echoed after him and he was impressed at her speed, but he didn’t slow. “To— _ow_! Shit!”

The footsteps stuttered to a stop and he followed suit, sighing. His anger dissipated instantly and he turned back, finding her standing a few feet behind him, her face downcast and one flip-flop in her hand. “What happened?” he asked, moving towards her.

“I broke my shoe,” she muttered.

He shook his head and pried it gently from her fingers, pushing the plastic through the ripped hole before handing it back. “There,” he said.

Remy stood there, fiddling with the shoe for a long moment, her eyes still pointed at the ground. “I . . . I’m sorry if I scared you,” she whispered. “I didn’t . . . _oh_.”

Tom cut her off with a tight embrace, his long arms pulling her body close. “Just . . . don’t do it again,” he pleaded. She nodded, her nose moving against his chest and sending tingles along his spine and a decidedly inconvenient rush of blood to his groin. He stepped back a bit abruptly and smiled down at her. “Come on. We’ll go get the rest of your stuff.”

“Oh, leave it,” she countered, slipping the shoe back on and taking a few hesitant steps to test its durability. “Two ratty towels and an equally ratty t-shirt. They’ll keep overnight. Right now, I want to wash this nasty lake water off my skin and eat whatever Mom has stashed in the fridge as leftovers.”

“That sounds like the _best_ plan,” Tom agreed, shooting her a grin. “I call the rest of that _amazing_ pie.”

“Hey!” Remy protested, giving him a light shove to the side. “Share!”

He simply laughed, letting her pout as they continued down the trail. Warmth suddenly enveloped his hand and he glanced down to find her fingers entwining with his, a pleasant tingle starting at the contact and shooting straight through him. She squeezed and he took the action for what it was: an apology and a promise. Tom lifted his gaze to hers and smiled, returning the squeeze. Remy sighed, her relief almost palpable at their silent exchange. “All right, I’ll share,” he said, heaving a long-suffering sigh that made her snort in amusement as they stepped inside the renovated barn. “Stop pouting.”

“Ha!” Remy exclaimed, grinning knowingly. “Works every time.” He rolled his eyes, unable to resist returning her infectious smile. “Now, go shower. I would like to eat my pie without smelling nasty lake water.”

“Yeah, that’s you,” he countered, chuckling as she shoved him good-naturedly before sauntering through the common room and disappearing through the door on the other side. Tom just stood there, thoughts still focused on the way her ass had looked in her swim shorts as she had walked away. _Oh dear god_.

He turned and sprinted up the stairs towards his room, all but flying into the bathroom and turning the shower on full blast. This time, his shuddering _was_ from the water, the freezing stream cooling down his boiling blood but only for a moment. The water pressure flagged slightly and he knew Remy had started her shower. Cold water was useless, the image of her gorgeous body lathered in soap and turning pink under the stream of hot water easily making him hard once again.

Tom groaned, loud and long, his forehead slamming into the tiled wall as his hand closed firmly around his shaft. He could see her in his mind, hands sliding across her wet, naked body as she cleaned the soap from her skin, his muscles tensing as desire pooled in his gut. Underneath his pulsating lust, a twinge of guilt flashed through him, but it was quickly swallowed up by the image of his body pressed against Remy’s, his hips crashing against hers as he thrust deep inside her, her body sliding up and down the slippery shower wall with the ferocity of his motions. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he moaned, thrusting slightly into his hand, moving just that much faster.

He’d wanted her for so long. They’d been friends for ages it seemed, but that had only strengthened the attraction he’d felt at their first meeting. And now, seeing her like that, all wet and grinning and just begging to be spanked after her little stunt . . . “ _Jesus_ ,” Tom hissed, his fist pounding the tile beside his head as his orgasm raced through him suddenly and hard, his breath stuttering as he rode it out, soon reduced to a shivering mess from the still cold water streaming over him. The water pressure was back to normal and he knew Remy was long finished, most likely already digging into her beloved pie.

The thought spurred him on and he raced through the rest of his shower, getting dressed in nearly record time and bursting through the back kitchen door within moments. Remy grinned up at him from the breakfast nook, her chin perched in her hands and said pie sitting smack dab in the center of the table. “Sorry,” he exclaimed breathlessly, giving her an apologetic look as a sudden shame pulsed through him at the reason for his tardiness.

“Forget where the shampoo goes, Hiddleston?” she teased. He made a face and she laughed, the sound warming him better than his rush across the grounds ever could.

She shifted in the booth, giving him space to plop down beside her, and reached for the two plates next to the pie dish. Tom watched her, his gaze taking in her loose, wide-collared top, taking a deep breath as it slipped off her shoulder. But it wasn’t lust this time that fueled his reactions.

Yes, he wanted to touch her. Yes, he wanted to kiss her perfect lips. But he was grateful that she chose to hold his hand, that she pressed those lips to his cheek or hair in thanks or affection.

“Tom,” Remy called, jerking him from his reverie. She laughed softly, sliding his piece across to him. “Where did you go? You had this dreamy look on your face.”

“Just imagining how amazing this pie is going to taste,” he covered, grinning broadly. “Are you sure I can’t take your mum home with me?”

Remy shook her head vehemently, making a disparaging sound around a massive bite of pie. “Not a chance,” she exclaimed once she swallowed. “She is all mine. But . . . she may be convinced to _send_ something.” She grinned at him. “A good use for all that British charm, I think.”

“Yeth,” he agreed, Remy squealing with laughter as bits of piecrust sprayed past his lips in his haste to answer. He gave her a strong nudge and a dark look, only succeeding in sending her deeper into her mirth.

“You look like an angry chipmunk,” she panted, her laughter leaving her breathless. “So cute!”

“Eat your pie,” Tom ordered, maneuvering the bite to give him a clearer voice. “Hussy.”

“Freak,” she countered and they shared a grin.

Two months later, back in London, he came home to a package on his kitchen counter with a note attached. _“Mum” was unfortunately busy so you get a Remy original. Better have your royal taste tester on hand. Just in case._

He’d never tasted anything better.


End file.
